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studying me
through narrowed eyes.
    "Actually," the medical examiner
shrugged, "the angle of the wound suggests it was
self-inflicted."
    Yang spun around and faced the
medical examiner once more. They spoke for a while in hushed tones
but I was in no condition to comprehend any of what they were
saying. The only thing I heard was the metallic humming sound of
the cold storage cases. My gaze locked on Taylor's missing leg, and
I stared, nearly catatonic, until Yang took me by the arm and
walked me out of the building.
    "Thank you for the identifying the
body, Jon. The department appreciates your assistance."
    "Cut the bullshit!"
    Yang flinched. "What're you
talking about? I told you we needed your hel—"
    "Stop. I know what that was,
Detective." I said, walking up to the passenger side of his Crown
Victoria. I waited, ready for any rebuttal, but all Yang did was
open his door and climb inside. I followed his lead then slammed my
door as hard as I could.
    "I know what that was," I said
again with more conviction.
    Yang started the ignition and
pulled out of the parking lot. It was several minutes before he
spoke again. "I'm sorry, Jon. It wasn't my call."
    "Yeah, but you agreed with
it."
    "We found out about the leg this
morning. Before we even spoke, I had already sent that unit to
bring you in." Yang took a sip of his coffee. "We thought you would
slip up if given the chance."
    "That isn't right. We're talking
about my best friend and his family. How would you feel if someone
did that to you?"
    "Don't turn this around, son. I'm
doing my job."
    "Did you get what you want? Still
think I'm involved? And don't call me son."
    Yang took another drink of coffee.
I hoped it was as cold and bitter as I felt.
    "Sorry…" he said. "And no. We
didn't have the news that it might have been self-inflicted, so I
don't think this is on you. But that isn't conclusive. The
department is still going to look your way until we can say for
certain that Mr. Taylor acted alone."
    "Look all you want." I
shrugged.
    "Jon, why does anyone kill?
Affairs, money, revenge. Or in your case, they think you just
snapped. The file the hospital had on you suggested you're prone to
outbursts, perhaps even experienced a bout of temporary insanity
after your accident."
    "I don't care about what they
think. Like I said before, my only goal is to help you find his
family. I'm not going to stop. They're going to be devastated. I
need to be there for them, Yang. Don't you get that? He was like a
brother to me, and we made promises to each other, signed a
contract. These things you wouldn't understand."
    "Jon—"
    "No. It's your turn to listen.
Just know that it falls on me to look after his family. I can't
afford to think of anything else right now."
    "We don't need your help finding
them," Yang said sullenly.
    "I don't care. You can't stop
me."
    "No Jon…they aren't missing
anymore. We found them."
    "What? Was that another part of
your twisted game? Where the hell have they been?" My hopeful
questions kept firing from my mouth, even though I knew better.
"Why haven't they called me at all?"
    Yang had to speak over me, louder,
"No, you're not understanding. I mean…while we had you under guard
in the interrogation room, divers were busy pulling body parts from
the bottom of a pond."
    Detective Yang's words crushed me
worse than the Black Hawk had. He glanced at over at me.
    "Six bodies, Jon," Yang whispered.
"They're dead…all of them."

 
    SECTION III -
OBITUARY

     
    Former NYC resident, Major Jesse Taylor, 33, died March
3 rd , 2013, in Bloody
Pond, MD. Major Taylor was born April 25 th , 1979, in Cooperstown, NY. He graduated from Cooperstown
Central High School in 1999 and went on to become a decorated pilot
in the United States Army. When not in uniform, he spent his time
coaching Pee Wee football for under-privileged kids. Major Taylor
was preceded in death by his wife, Lorie; son, Jon; father, Hunter;
mother, Christina; older brother, Kyle; and younger